La Nuit de Péché
by Phoenix Belfalas
Summary: The Malfoys are allowed to return to England after the aftereffects of the Final War have blown off. When they return, they attend the du Parc family's masquerade, and events ensue. Warning - slash, incest.
1. Masquerade

Title – Masquerade

Authoress – Phoenix Tears

Summary – Draco Malfoy, back from his secret hiding in America, attends the du Parc family's masquerade, and meets up with some old acquaintances.

Rating – PG

Warning – Slash, incest. Don't like – don't read.

Disclaimer – I own nothing, except for this plot. All the characters are property of the wonderful goddess J.K. Rowling.

Authoress' Note – I am a citizen of America, so pardon the spellings if they are not strictly United Kingdom type English… you know, 'colour' or 'color'…

Feedback – Of course, as for every writer, questions, thoughts, and constructive criticism are all greatly appreciated. Thank you, and enjoy.

~*~

            I've just Apparated back to London, back from two years of living in hiding in the United States. I'm now entering a life I had gone away from when I graduated Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, two years ago.

            I am nineteen years old.

            My father is in hiding, my mother is dead, Voldemort is gone, and Harry Potter is still alive. Naturally.

            The entire Malfoy family's whereabouts are unknown. We were told to go into hiding by Albus Dumbledore, who said to come back when the aftermath of the war was over. The Malfoys had to go into hiding because, even though we switched to the Light side and Order of the Phoenix, there are those out for blood, who cannot forgive our sins.

            Our sins must be paid in blood, flesh, and life.

            But we cannot pay.

            One of those who is out for blood is Ron Weasley, for example. The Weasley and Malfoy families have been ancient families striving in a blood feud for centuries, though the Malfoy family is much more respectable, wealthy, and older.

            After two years were over, Dumbledore let us come back.

            I am nineteen years old, the current holder of the most nominations for Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor, heir to the Malfoy fortune, former Slytherin prefect, Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, and Seeker, son of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa D'Voire.

            Three guesses as to who I am.

~*~

            My name, as well as that of my father's, has finally been cleared by the public.

            They have forgiven.

            But the Malfoy name still reigns supreme over the wizarding world. How could it not? Our ancestors were the dukes, lords, and kings of France, England, and Normandy.

            Our name is still highest-ranked and known among the ancient, pureblooded wizarding families.

            I have been invited to the du Parc family's masquerade two nights from now. 

            I have just returned from America yesterday, and have already received six applications for Quidditch teams and three modeling jobs.

            As if a Malfoy could ever be caught playing sweaty, professional Quidditch or doing modeling jobs for the wizarding branch of Armani.

            Though I _do_ like their fashion.

            Which is why I just bought some Armani robes for the du Parc masquerade.

            I _do _hope that Pansy won't be there.

~*~

            It's lonely in the Manor; no one is here. The house elves bustle around in the kitchen, and occasionally the hallways, but there is no one to talk to me.

            I play the piano and the violin, listen to the wizarding radio, take walks in the garden, and visit the menagerie, but none of it compares to having talks about politics with Father in his private study.

            I miss him quite a lot.

            When I was young, Father would let me sit on his lap and he would read stories to me. He would show me how to practice my instruments, show me various spells, and bring me down to his private potions laboratory.

            I always did have a special talent for potions.

            When I grew up and entered Hogwarts, he would send me presents. For my birthday, right after Yule, he would hold huge parties at the Manor. One of my presents in first year was an Invisibility Cloak. It had been specially weaved for me, as Father has several demiguises in the menagerie.

            I had ever so much fun with that Invisibility Cloak. It was rumoured that Harry Potter had one, as well.

            I miss those times with Father.

            I do not even know if he is still alive, or if he's still in England.

            I wonder, if I have been allowed to come back, shouldn't Father have been, as well? And if he was allowed to come back, why is he not at the Manor? Why is he not here with me?

            I admire him. He is the perfect Malfoy – cold, beautiful, aloof, and proud. How I wish to be like him when I inherit the Manor and all the Malfoy funds and estates.

            I respect him. He has shown me so much of life, and told me so much about how to live it. He holds power over everything – everyone. No matter who they are, they fear him with a frightened admiration and acknowledgement.

            I honour him. He is my god, my master, my bringer of life. Without him, I would not be here. He has worked so hard to preserve the Malfoy legacy and funds; our fortune is nearly twenty billion Galleons now. That is not counting precious gems, artifacts, etc.

            I love him. He is my father.

~*~

            I am dressed in resplendent silk robes of midnight blue edged in silver velvet lining. My cape billows out behind me in a manner reminiscent of Professor Snape, and my polished black dragonhide boots fit almost up to my knee. My pale grey coloured breeches fit snugly, and I noticed quite a number of lustful eyes following my lower back and figure. The white collared shirt I have on inside has the first few buttons undone, revealing my alabaster white skin.

            My mask is charcoal black lined in elegant quicksilver.

            The music has begun. It is a slow and classical.

            Pairs of witches and wizards begin filtering out onto the large dance floor, and I idly comment to the young Mr. Rhayne du Parc, who is around my age, about what a wonderful environment they have set up. The wine is simply divine, I compliment.

            He blushes beautifully and says a polite thank-you. His mask is a stunning green colour trimmed in emerald. Though I know I am bisexual – most wizards and Malfoys are – I would not dream of seducing Rhayne. He is merely a friend to me.

            A young lady, pretty in a gown of gold, asks me to dance, and being the perfect gentleman with all the polite upbringing I have received, I oblige. She is a skillful dancer, and as this dance is one in which partners are continuously switched, I am swept into many unknown arms.

            One pair is muscular and soothing, and I look up into the owner's face. Though it is partly obscured by the mask, I can see the melded angles of the person's neck from beneath his collared silver and green robes. His skin is paler than moonlight in contrast to the Slytherin colours, much like my skintones are.

            He holds me more closely, intimately, than is required, and I find myself flushing involuntarily. I chastise myself – Father would be ashamed, for Malfoys do _not_ blush.

            When the dance is over, the man bows graciously and straightens up again. I return the favour and see that his hair is a silken blonde colour. Like gold, I muse.

            "You are a wonderful dancer, sir," I compliment politely.

            "As are you, little one. You are beautiful, as well."

            I receive those compliments regularly, and know of my beauty.

            "Would you care for a waltz?" the mysterious man asks.

            Smiling, I reply, "Of course." He takes my arm tenderly, as if I might break at any moment, and wraps his arms around my slim waist. It feels as if it belongs there – his hold is strong and comforting. The expensive fabric of his robes is soft against mine, and makes barely a sound as we dance elegantly to the music.

            Many pairs of eyes are glued to us as we make our way around the dance floor. I must admit, he dances extremely well, and I harmonize him nicely.

            The man nods good-naturedly at everyone once the music has ended, accepting comments graciously. He smiles surreptitiously at me before grabbing my hand and drawing me out onto the veranda overlooking the gardens.

            "Have I mentioned that you are beautiful?" he whispers softly.

            "Yes. But how would you know if I wear a mask?" I asked slyly, smirking.

            The mystifying man snickers quietly, as if amused. "I have a penchant for lovely things, dear." He then pulls me in for a gentle, chaste kiss, only lips and breath and tenderness and purity. My breath is nearly stolen away as I feel an electrical jolt shoot through me, and I, far from unskilled in the arts of love, open my mouth in submission. I feel the man smile against my lips and ever so gently let his tongue into my mouth.

            It's fiery hot and icy cold all at the same time; gentle and probing and fervent. He battles with my own tongue, licking softly at the caverns in my mouth. The wine I had just drink leaves a sweet aftertaste of grapes, and I can taste champagne in his mouth as well. "Delicious," he murmurs softly against my lips.

            We kiss until we are out of breath, and I find that his body has been reacting. As had mine. There is a very noticeable bulge in his lower areas, even though his robes are billowing and conceal much. I can tell he is well endowed.

            The clock strikes ten, and a cheering goes up. Ten is the time for everyone to be unmasked, and then to continue dancing. I am eager to find out who this man is, and ask breathlessly, "You or I first?"

           "I shall," he says, with an imperious toss of his golden head. He unties the strings of his silver mask and reveals his face.

            It takes all the composure I have ever been taught to not keel over in surprise.

            The enigmatic man is my father, Lucius Malfoy.

~*~

Authoress Note: Please, _please_ review!! This is my first time at a Lucius/Draco fic… If you think: Ick! How on earth could you make Lucius and Draco go together?! Please refrain from flaming. You were warned about incest and slash, and if it makes you feel any better, Draco did not know he was actually kissing his father… Should I write a sequel or not? Feedback is greatly appreciated…


	2. Moonlight

Title – Moonlight

Authoress – Phoenix Tears

Summary – Lucius Malfoy, out of hiding, returns to England and attends a masquerade. Little does he know that he will experience quite a few shocking revelations while there… This is in Lucius' point of view.

Rating – PG

Warning – Slash, incest. Don't like – don't read.

Disclaimer – I own nothing, except for this plot. All the characters are property of the wonderful goddess J.K. Rowling.

Authoress' Note – I am a citizen of America, so pardon the spellings if they are not strictly United Kingdom type English… you know, 'colour' or 'color'…

Feedback – Of course, as for every writer, questions, thoughts, and constructive criticism are all greatly appreciated. Thank you, and enjoy.

~*~

            The whooshing sound of a falcon reaches my ears as I sit in a moderately sized flat – too small for a Malfoy – at a large writing desk. Its golden eyes study me sharply before delivering the letter.

To: Mr. Lucius Malfoy From: Albus Dumbledore 

            Ah. So this letter is from Dumbledore. Surprising that he didn't use one of the Hogwarts post owls.

            The contents inform me of how the wizarding population's hatred has slowly been worn off and forgotten.

            It is safe for me to return.

~*~

            I straighten out my green and black robes, making sure that they are immaculately placed. Adjusting my mask so that it covers all of my face, I enter the du Parc mansion – though it is nowhere as large as Malfoy Manor – and scan the room for anyone I might know. I glimpse a sight of silken chestnut hair bound in a single ponytail by velvet ribbons – that must be the young Mr. Rhayne du Parc.

            Next to him I see another young man, dressed in cobalt blue, black, and grey. His silver hair flashes under the light of the candelabra, and I muse how much the hue of the young man's hair was like mine, when I was younger.

            A young witch dressed in gold – Miss Nott, if I am not mistaken – goes over to the silver haired youth and asks him to dance. I participate in the dance as well, the steps coming naturally to me. I see that the silver youth dances elegantly as well, and before I know it, he is my partner.

            He is beautiful, I can tell, even with his mask on.

            Maybe Draco would like him, if I ever find Draco.

            I dance with him, holding him in my arms as the one leading the dance, and I can see that his lithe frame trembles when I hold him. I hold him closer, and he wraps willing arms around my shoulders. We dance another waltz, and it is over too soon for my liking.

            Hoards of people come to congratulate our superb dancing.

            The silver youth nods and accepts the compliments as graciously as I do, and I wonder under which crest and house was he brought up.

            He would make a wonderful companion for Draco, I muse, if I did not want him myself.

~*~

            Draco. Oh, my precious, beautiful, perfect silver dragon.

            I love him so much that it hurts to acknowledge my love.

            From the day he was born, and I held his small body in my arms, I knew that I would gladly die for him.

            As he grew up, I lavished him with gifts and possessions, not knowing how else to express my love. Severus told me I should be more emotional with him, rather than give Draco materialistic things.

            I was afraid I was not good enough of a father.

            But every night, I would put Draco to sleep, and he would look up at me from under sinfully long dark silver lashes, with those sapphire silver eyes of his, and whisper adoringly, "I love you, Daddy."

            I love him.

            When he grew up and went into Hogwarts, I missed him even more. Narcissa was there, of course, but she was often out at social gatherings. Not like I cared; we shared no love, only an understanding friendship.

            Under the pretense of Narcissa, I would send him gifts and sweets. Every Yule, when he came home, we would hold huge celebrations at the Manor for him.

            Every year, he worked hard to please me.

            In fifth year, he graduated with thirteen O.W.L.s, which was one more than the Muggle girl Granger. Draco told me gleefully how she threw a fit in the Great Hall when the owls delivered the results. He had scored the highest in the school, even higher than the book-smart Ravenclaws, who had all gotten elevens and twelves. 

            In seventh year, Draco was nominated Head Boy. He graduated with the maximum amount of N.E.W.T.s, same as the Granger girl, who had been the Head Girl. I was proud of him. Slytherin House took home the House Cup that year, though Gryffindor was the winner of the Quidditch Cup. They celebrated happily for a whole week, Severus had told me.

            But then Voldemort was defeated, and our worlds changed forever.

            Narcissa was killed because of her reluctance to gather Veela forces for the Dark Lord. In the end, Harry Potter killed Voldemort, predictably.

            Harry Potter lived, Voldemort died, and the world kept on spinning.

            Death Eaters were rounded up and sent to Azkaban, Muggles were oblivious to the largest wizarding war ever just being finished, and the magical community was now thankful for the defeat of the Dark Lord.

            The world kept on spinning.

            Dumbledore advised that Draco and I go into separate hiding, and so we did.

            I never heard from my son since.

~*~

            I told the boy that he was beautiful, pressing him up against a hidden section of the veranda, letting my hot breath waft over his pale figure. He shuddered.

            "How would you know if I wear a mask?" the boy asks coyly, unconsciously running a wet tongue over his rose hued lips.

            "I have a penchant for lovely things, dear," I say, amused, and pull the boy in for a kiss. Oh, but he is heavenly.

            The boy tastes of red wine and vanilla and mint and purity. I am gentle with him – it would not do to scare the poor boy off – and wait until he lets me into his sweet darkness. I smirk against his delicious lips and dart quickly into his mouth, licking and sucking and caressing gently with my tongue.

            It's the most heavenly feeling I've ever felt – even better than the stolen kisses with Severus Snape, dark Sev, in the Potions storage room, better than the fiery kisses with James Potter, popular Jamie, in the Quidditch broom shed.

            Better than all those kisses I've ever had before.

            "Delicious," I murmur gently against his lips, feeling the tremors of my words enter his mouth and vibrate gently.

            Soon, we are out of breath, and pull apart. The clock soon strikes ten.

            "You or I first?" he asks.

            I toss my head; Malfoys must always go first. "I shall," I say, flashing an unseen smile at the boy. In my mind, there is one worry.

            _Will he be repulsed at the sight of such an older man?_

             Perhaps not, I comfort myself. I unlace my mask and take it off, revealing my face. The boy's face does not reveal anything, but then again, he is wearing a mask.

            He does not move.

            I am afraid he is repulsed at the sight of me.

            Impatient, I stride over to him and unlace his mask gently, taking care not to muss the perfect, silken strands of platinum blonde hair.

            It is my son, Draco Malfoy.

~*~

Authoress Note: Well, if you've read the previous chapter, this shouldn't come as much of a surprise to you…Please review!


	3. Music

Title – Music

Authoress – Phoenix Tears

Summary – Lucius and Draco deal with the events ensuing the masquerade.

Rating – R

Warning – Slash, incest. Don't like – don't read.

Disclaimer – I own nothing, except for this plot. All the characters are property of the wonderful goddess J.K. Rowling.

Authoress' Note – I am a citizen of America, so pardon the spellings if they are not strictly United Kingdom type English… you know, 'colour' or 'color'…

Feedback – Of course, as for every writer, questions, thoughts, and constructive criticism are all greatly appreciated. Thank you, and enjoy.

~*~

            Be warned that this chapter, unlike the other ones, is rated R. Please leave and click that little [Back] button if you get queasy at the thought of two closely related males engaged in sexual relationships. This means slash and incest. You have been warned.****

~*~

            The two Malfoy stare at each other, transfixed and stunned. Lucius is the first to recover his breath, "Draco? Is it really you?"

            Draco took in a deep breath. "Father," he says. "I – I didn't know you had come back. I didn't see you at the Manor, you never owled, no one ever told me…"

            "Oh, my dragon," Lucius said, moving forward and enveloping his son in a tight embrace. Draco, as tall as his father now, buried his head in Lucius' shoulder and inhaled deeply. His father smelled the same – expensive, dangerous, and of fire and some unknown, luxurious cologne. "My son, my heir, my beautiful dragon…"

            "Father, father," Draco choked out. He was not crying – Malfoys do not cry – but he felt like doing so on the inside.

            They stood like that for several minutes, reveling in each other's embrace. Finally, it was Draco who first made a motion. He moved his lips towards Lucius' neck and began kissing lightly. Lucius gasped and made to move away, but his son held him in a vice-like grip.

            "You had no problem of doing this when I wore a mask, Father. Should I put on the mask again?" Draco asked between gentle kisses.

            "No – Draco, stop. You shouldn't be doing this; I'm your father."

            "And I'm a Malfoy. Malfoys _always _get what they want, and I want you," Draco said in a dark, husky voice. His smoky silver eyes were smouldering fiercely, locked with his father's eyes in a battle of will and hunger.

            Lucius saw his son – he saw Draco dressed in a white collared shirt, with the first few ebony fastenings undone, and pale grey hued breeches, snug and showing the slim muscles of his legs. He saw Draco with his cheeks flushed in desire, lust – a forbidden desire and lust. He felt his son, his heir kissing him – he felt the passion and worship and want and _need_ that Draco had for him.

            He felt love – a burning, searing love that he hadn't felt since Draco was born, and at that time, it was still a normal, paternal love.

            'You shouldn't be doing this; I'm your father' be damned.

~*~

            "Oh, Father!" Draco said, arching his back off of the green and black silk and satin sheets of Lucius' four-poster bed. "Gods, Father, please, please…"

            Draco's moans sounded like the sweetest music to Lucius' ears.

            Lucius had quickly divested Draco and himself of any clothing, using a handy little incantation that he had learned from Severus while back at Hogwarts. His mouth was now wrapped around his son's cock and licking slowly, sensuously up the length of it, making Draco shudder. He sucked the glistening drops of pre cum that hung on the end of Draco's length. "Delicious," Lucius whispered for the second time in the same night.

            It was a luscious taste – musk, of innocence and beauty – that was purely _Draco_. Lucius licked unhurriedly, listening to his son's throaty moans and pleas.

            "Please, oh, _Merlin_…"

            He pulled away from Draco's throbbing erection, smirking, "Please what, Draco? Mind your manners, my dear dragon. You still must learn to express and articulate your wishes clearly. What is it that you want me to do, hmm?"

            "Please, Father, fuck me…" Draco whimpered wantonly, splaying his pale legs apart in sweet agony as he tried to thrust his cock in his father's mouth again. His hips arched up, revealing his entrance to Lucius, practically begging to be taken.

            Lucius became harder at his son's sinful words. 'Father' and 'fuck me' should not be used in the same sentence. Normally.

            He summoned up all his restraint and climbed, cat-like, off of the bed. Draco protested, writhing in the satin sheets, pleading, "Father, father, please…"

            Lucius smirked and whispered in a silken tone, "Patience, my heir. We're going to have a little _fun_ first." He summoned up a bottle of golden honey, long, white strips of silk, and some lavender scented oil.

            The ivory white satin strips wound themselves magically around Draco's legs, arms, and torso, rendering him motionless save for some agonized writhing. With a flick of his wand, Lucius sent the honey criss-crossing over Draco's body, dripping wet and sticky over alabaster white skin. He lowered himself on all fours directly on top of Draco's body, but not quite making contact.

            "My pretty little dragon," Lucius hissed. "So wanton; tied up with honey dripping off of your every limb. What would you like me to do, my precious?"

            "Lick it off, Father," Draco moaned breathlessly. He fought against the binds, arching his hips off of the mattress, only succeeding in creating a delicious friction between Lucius' body and his. "Please, please, please…" he repeated, nearly crying.

            Lucius could no longer restrain himself, and placed a sweet, chaste kiss to his son's lips, before lapping gently at Draco's jaw, ear, neck, and torso. His tongue left fiery trails down Draco's body, and Draco moaned, issuing guttural sounds from his throat.

            "Such beautiful sounds you make, my dragon. When I'm done with you tonight, you'll have sung the loveliest of songs for me."

~*~

            The sunlight poured in through wide, arched windows, the rays spilling out onto the carpeted floor of Lucius' bedroom. Draco was curled up on the bed, emerald and ebony sheets in disarray, half on the ground and half on the mattress. The air of the bedroom was thick with the scent of sweat, passion, and sex. Lucius was spooned around Draco, his strong arms holding his son close to his chest, legs intertwined with one another.

            Draco yawned and blinked his large eyes blearily. He looked around and saw his father, looking at him with a predatory look. "I see you've woken up, Draco."

            "Father?"

            "I hardly think that there is a need for such formalities when we have – ahem – partaken in such intimate events." Lucius smirked, kissing Draco's cheek gently, letting his tongue drag along his son's high cheekbones and elegant, sloping jaw line.

            "Lucius…" Draco hissed, snake-like. His silver eyes were darkened in renewed lust. His long, slender hands – made for playing instruments like the piano and violin, Lucius mused, not for doing such wicked acts to his father – were twisted in Lucius' fine golden hair. "Mmm," he said, wrinkling his delicate nose slightly. "We reek of sex. I think we need to go wash, Lucius."

            Laughing, Lucius twisted off of the bed, pulling Draco with him. "I think we do."

~*~

Authoress Note: *sigh* I procrastinated in writing this… I had about half of it written out, and then was too lazy to type the rest out. I think that this is the end, really… Post your thoughts and perhaps I'll consider your ideas.


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